Scarlet Memories
by Elzeara
Summary: It's been eons since the banishment and Giratina struggles every day with the grief and pain. He despises Arceus, yet seeks his comfort. Slightly AU and mostly Gijinkas.


Author's Notes

→ This is actually an old story from 2013. After reading it, I noticed that it wasn't as I wanted it to be, so I decided to write it into what I originally planned. The ratings will change from K up to even M. The reason for this is the future gore and blood I have planned, and lots, lots of angst and drama.

Enjoy.

.oOo. .oOo. .oOo. .oOo. .oOo.

**Chapter 1: Upside Down**

The dead silence in this place is unbearable, most of the times, to say the least. One could be able to hear a dreadful sound in the background, unknown to any living being besides to the ruler himself. Would it be acceptable to call it "white noise"? Probably not, but this shares the same structure, but lower frequencies. The first few years he'd hate it with a burning passion, it would drive him to the edge of insanity, up to the moment he had decided to accept, to embrace this cursed sound and use it for his own advantage, but when exhaustion is too great for him to bear, the sound turns against him once again.

The sounds of crumbling earth is always heard above his current location. It's something so common, it's nothing new. As a matter of fact, nothing is new to the Devil himself. He's seen it all, the agonies, the pains, the tears of the innocent and those who aren't. Sitting day after day in the underworld becomes weary at times, but he has no allowance to abandon this place without the God's permission. Pathetic, but at the same time it's sad and lonely. Who's to blame, though? Did the Devil not rebel back in the day against his father? His memories are hazy and blurred of that day, but he stands firm on this topic.

A heavy sigh escaped through his lips. The more he thought on these types of things, the more he wanted to leave this forsaken place. The man reached his hand to grab the glass filled with red wine, and took a sip on it. Ah, he loved the red wine as it bore this noticeable texture and intense flavor he so much enjoyed to taste. Once in a while, specifically when alone, he'd sit alone in his throne room and enjoy every single sip of it. With all sincerity, sometimes small things help him to keep his sanity in place. But what else was to do in Distortion World? For something to be called Underworld or Hell, there's nothing really going on inside, his palace. Even his throne room is dark and cold, with dull lights of the few candles giving some visibility around this place. The walls were made of concrete bricks, but certain spots were rotting away already; the maroon carpet was long and wide, starting from the throne itself up to the exit, it was covered in dust and worn out over the time. There were no windows, per se, but the room contained curtains of dark red shades mixed with crimson strings, and last but not least, the throne itself was made of stone, covered in webs and dust, yet it was carved with beautiful markings and pictures of various things, specifically demons and dragons.

Another sigh. No matter how much did the man make this place pretty, the darkness would take it all away, devour it and make the beauty rot into the most disgusting things possible. His throne room and bedroom were in the best condition probably, but the Devil doesn't even rest - not since that day, he hadn't closed an eye. The lack of sleep would make him sick and aggressive just as the hunger, but got used to it over time.

He broke the glass in his own hand, the shattered pieces of it penetrating through his skin, causing multiple spots to bleed profoundly. But the Devil did not care, because he enjoyed this kind of pain. Indeed, this was much better and pleasurable than the excruciating agony he feels inside his chest, these.. feelings that not even he can describe, but he learned they're nothing good. Feelings? He loathes them, they're a bother, unnecessary chemicals inside the body who cause so much trouble.. but when he stops to think more about this, he remembers this one blue-haired man who tried to take over the Distortion World, but ended up being defeated. Taking a deeper thought on this, a world with no emotion would be terrible. Ugh.

"M'lord." A voice called out from the deeper darkness next to the throne. The ruler turned his eyes towards the source of the sound, his thoughts being disrupted by it. He didn't mind. Humming a bit, the Devil's lips curled slowly into a smirk, leaning his back against the stone cold seat. He didn't bother responding, but his servant continued, slightly nervous. "You seem to be troubled.."

_'How cute.'_ The man thought to himself, licking the blood off of his hand. Not even the broken shards of the glass bothered him. A long, moist lick and half the blood was gone, but kept coming back. "Are you concerned because I broke the glass of wine purposely on my hand or are you worried because there is indeed something wrong with my general well-being?" The man asked, yet the servant did not respond. There was a long silence between them both, but he was patient. The servant noticed this quietness and decided to shake its head, retreating back into the shadows, fearing his mighty lord could do him some harm. The Devil was merciless, cruel, harsh and even ruthless, but never heartless. The darkness may have devoured bits and pieces off of him, but certain things still remain from the old Giratina.

The name.. he often wondered what did it mean. He was left alone to his thoughts again, enjoying the silence that has befallen upon the room. Giratina could find many origins of his name, but there is one thing he had never found: the purpose of his life, of his mere existence. It is hard to believe as many think the same - rule over Distortion World - but to the Lord himself was not enough. He knew something was amiss, but perhaps it is something he will never find. Living an eternal life is not as pleasant as many may be thinking. Most legendaries are like so, are they not? The difference is they do not need to face their fears, weaknesses and agonies every single day, whereas Giratina struggles and fight with his own self to remain calm and sane, to the certain level. Since his last battle against Arceus five years back, Giratina could not rest, could not forgive himself. He had a chance to talk to his father, but was defeated in mere minutes. He stood no chance against him.

And that bastard kid with his Pikachu ruined everything.

It seemed as if the atmosphere in the room began to change, the darkness shifting forms and floating around the ceiling like a fog. Giratina's emotions always seemed to affect the state of this place, which now he calls home. He prefers not to think about that day when he woke up and found himself in this world. True terror and fear that no one has yet ever felt. The man often pondered and yelled why, calling out to his brothers, calling out to his father. "_Why? What did I do to deserve this?_" The stories the mankind has written are different, claiming it is Giratina's fault. Perhaps it is, perhaps they're wrong - and he hopes they're all wrong. The utter darkness of this place has taken away most memories of his past, yet few remain. None of them are good ones, sadly, but.. he can't bring himself to think about that now.

The silence.. Sometimes it's so beautiful. He's gotten used to much to be this alone and lonely, that not even the tears leave these walls. Giratina had covered his eyes a bit with the palm of his hand and sighed. It hurt to feel like this, it hurt to feel so unloved, yet embracing it was the only way. He still fights with himself over these.. silly things, yet he cannot help but let the tears stream down his cheeks.

Silent tears that no one ever hears or sees.


End file.
